


Remembering You

by Wildfire1980



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia!Jorah, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Drama, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Jon Snow does NOT end up with Dany in this fic, Jorah puts on the charm, No clue where my brain is taking this, Older Man/Younger Woman, Persuasion - Freeform, Sharing a Bed, Smut, This is a very confident Jorah
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:13:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24852133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildfire1980/pseuds/Wildfire1980
Summary: We have always been the sum of our memories. The heartbreaks, the victories, the struggles, the fears, the regrets. The pain of loss and the elation of love found. All the emotions that encompass the imprints of time. The paths that dictate our lives. The directions they take. The divergence, the impasses and then the moments of impact. When the unexpected sweeps in and takes you completely by surprise. From the upset of your world, to the imbalance of theirs. A cosmic collision. Much like the day she met him…and the day he forgot her – well, sort of.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont & Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 121
Kudos: 83





	1. It All Starts With You

**Author's Note:**

> Contrary to your possible belief over the summary...this story has a happy ending. 
> 
> Not sure where my brain is taking this..but I'm certain it will end up in the gutter with this one. The whole plot line is just too tempting not too. So yes, tags are subject to change and upgrade to the porn with plot status.
> 
> I originally planned on this being a multi-chapter...But, we shall see. Let me know if you guys want more.

He had fought hard for her. 

Slaying every wight that dared to come her way. 

And when the Night King fell, so did her Lord Commander. 

His body ravaged by wounds she witnessed but did not fully grasp their damage till now. 

Just like the effect his presence had upon her life.

_Her heart._

And the quick rising of fear that began to paralyze her entire being. 

Suddenly faced with the possibility of what life will be like without him. 

She didn’t like the odds. 

Nor the very thought of it. 

Which is why she desperately sought out the Red Priestess. 

She was cautious of the Lord she proclaimed to serve. 

He appeared to be a cruel god. 

Selfish.

And one obsessed with his own agenda. 

But R’hllor possessed strong magic. 

A magic that she was in dire need of right now. 

Especially with her Lord Commander fading fast in her arms. 

It was her despondency that sent her running. 

And her inability to accept losing him. 

The idea alone was enough to break her.

Death could be so final.

So… _permanent._

She didn’t like that ending. 

At least for them. 

Not like this. 

So, she begged and pleaded. 

Made an utter fool of herself. 

Until the Red Priestess relented and Ser Jorah’s body was carried to the infirmary. 

He was still alive. 

But for how long, Daenerys did not know. 

His breathing was becoming shallower. 

And the death rattle had begun to take hold deep within his chest. 

But nothing scared her more, than when the Red Priestess removed her from Ser Jorah’s side and bolted the door shut. 

She tried to push down the memories. 

The flashbacks from the last time she had reached such heights of despair. 

The way Khal Drogo remained breathing, but his eyes void of any life. 

It was an error then. 

Perhaps, it was a mistake now. 

Either way, she needed to know. 

Needed him to remain here. 

With her.

It wasn’t until an hour later, that she heard the lock unbolt and the door open, revealing Samwell Tarly’s hesitant face.

She could see his reluctance beforehand. 

He didn’t want to be anywhere near such magic. 

But he respected Ser Jorah, even admired him. 

Which is why he complied to the Queen’s wishes to keep him safe. 

To stand guard as a maester, medically making sure that the Red Priestess did not overstep her bounds. 

“He’s awake, Your Grace.” 

His eyes nervously darted to the side, his feet shifting restlessly.

And she knew instantly that something was amiss. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Her heart sank, immediately regretting her decision. 

“I think…” Sam paused, his words floundering. “I think…you should ask her that question.” 

He stepped aside, allowing Melisandre to step through.

“What did you do?” Daenerys demanded. 

“I did as you bid, Your Grace.” Her intonation was quite cavalier, even presumptuous. “I prayed for his life to be spared and the Lord of Light has granted my request.” 

“Jorah’s alive?”

“Yes, Your Grace. He lives.” 

And suddenly, she was able to breathe again. 

Letting out a deep sigh of relief.

One that she didn’t realize she had been holding. 

Until the Red Priestess’ dark eyes turned sober. 

More serious. 

Almost cold.

“But I must warn you…there is a price.” 

“What do you mean?” She could feel the panic gripping her heart. “What price?” 

“R’hllor gives nothing without something in return. I’m afraid your Lord Commander is not the same man you remember.” 

“We don’t know that yet.” Sam chimed in, trying to remain positive. “He hasn’t seen her yet. We won’t know until he does.”

Daenerys’ eyes suspiciously moved between the two. 

Her patience wearing thin. 

“I demand to know what is wrong with him.” 

Her tone was threatening. 

Desperate, in fact. 

“He appears…” Sam stuttered. “Well, we’re not sure…But, we think his memories are – ” 

He left the sentence unfinished. 

Hanging blindly in the air.

Still fumbling over the prospect of what his next words may entail. 

“Are what?” Dany eagerly implored.

Sam shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably.

“Well… _different_.”

The Queen’s eyes narrowed. “Different how?”

“I think…It’ll be best to just show you.” 

Samwell opened the door wider, giving her a view of Ser Jorah’s back to her.

He was shirtless and sitting upright, examining his bandaged wounds. 

But most importantly, he was breathing. 

“Ser Jorah.” Samwell called out. 

And Daenerys could visibly see his back stiffen. 

“I told you.” He said defensively. “I don’t know you. I don’t know either of you.” 

Sam shared a concerning look with Dany. 

“Yes.” He replied, trying to sound in control. Hopeful, almost. “But I brought someone that you may remember.” 

Ser Jorah slowly turns around. 

But his eyes seem vacant. 

Like, he was trying to place her. 

And of their own volition, her feet carry her closer. 

More toward the light. 

Hoping it will illuminate the dark corners his memories have run off too. 

He holds her gaze, watching every move she makes.

As she gently reaches out, her fingers lightly scratching through his beard.

Amazed that he doesn’t pull away. 

Even more transfixed by the look in his eye. 

“Jorah, do you know who I am?” 

He blinks, looks around the room, scanning each face. 

But his puzzled expression tells her that he still doesn’t recognize any of the occupants. 

Then his eyes lock with hers. 

And soften as they always have in the past. 

He smirks knowingly, like someone is playing a joke on him.

“Of course, I do.” 

Daenerys closes her eyes, lets out a half laugh, half sigh, overwhelmed by the flood of relief.

Until Jorah confidently says. 

“You’re my wife.”


	2. Living A Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite hearing Maester Tarley's somewhat, medical advice on the nature of Jorah's condition, Daenerys still struggles to make a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I have no clue where the hell I'm taking this story. LOL 
> 
> So, it's ride or die from here on out. 
> 
> Welcome aboard the crazy train, biatches!

“Jorah, do you know who I am?”

He blinks, looks around the room, scanning each face.

But his puzzled expression tells her that he still doesn’t recognize any of the occupants.

Then his eyes lock with hers. 

And soften as they always have in the past. 

He smirks knowingly, like someone is playing a joke on him.

“Of course, I do.”

Daenerys closes her eyes, lets out a half laugh, half sigh, overwhelmed by the flood of relief.

Until Jorah confidently says. 

“You’re my wife.”

She blinks, swallows hard, opens her mouth to refute the claim, but no words come out.

Lacking the fortitude to set his reality back to rights. 

Her eyes turn soft and for a moment, she feels nothing but compassion for him. 

But Jorah’s keen eyes see it. 

Sees the pity for what it is. 

And his expression turns perplexed.

“You are my wife,” He swallows hard, “…aren’t you?”

She hears the doubt creeping in. 

The panic rising in his voice. 

The desperation. 

The anxiety he must feel.

To feel a connection, a form of recognition with someone, only to discover it was wrong.

So, very wrong.

“Your Grace,” Samwell began. “May I speak with you in private?” 

Daenerys briefly looks over her shoulder, then nods. 

Giving Jorah a reassuring gaze, before she leaves. 

She accompanies the Maester, slowly walking to the corner of the room.

Ensuring a safe distance, so that Jorah couldn’t overhear their conversation. 

“What is it?” 

Her tone was somewhat stern, impatient.

Implying that she would much rather be by Ser Jorah’s side, than in the shadows, whispering conspiratorially with the Maester of Winterfell.

“Do you intend to tell Ser Jorah the truth?” 

She hesitated, her brows furrowing in uncertainty. 

“I must admit, I’m at a loss as to what to do.”

She looks past Samwell’s shoulder for a moment, pondering the question, then meets his eyes once more.

“But I imagine honesty would be the proper course of action, wouldn’t you?” 

Samwell looks down, shifting his feet in a wavering manner. 

His eyes briefly dart to Ser Jorah’s direction, then back to her. 

And she imagines, that he sees the troubled expression deepening within the Knight’s face.

Especially when Sam’s features turn more expressive. 

More sympathetic.

He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it just as quickly. 

Unsure of how the proposal will be received. 

Feeling even less confident in the solution. 

Dany’s forehead creases with curiosity. 

“What?” 

“This,” He pauses “…This is just an idea, Your Grace.” 

She remains silent, but her eyes are expectant, waiting for him to continue. 

“But perhaps it would be best to play along.” 

The suggestion nervously spills out him. 

Daenerys blinks, lips slightly parting. 

“You mean lie to him?!” 

Sam apologetically held his hands up in the air, hurrying to explain.

“He doesn’t recognize anyone else, Your Grace.” He stresses, trying to amplify the importance of this revelation. “But he does you.”

“Not entirely.” She responds curtly, still opposing the idea. 

“No…but…” He stutters. “Well…you may be the only chance he has of recovering.” 

She begins to disagree, but Sam rushes his words out in one breathless flow. 

“You could use this time to help him remember…to speed up the recovery process.” 

She narrows her brows, crossing her arms defensively. 

“And as a Maester, how many encounters have you had with such things?”

Sam looks to the ceiling, as if recounting the cases inwardly, only to blush in embarrassment.

“Well…” He shrugs. “None, Your Grace.” 

Her eyes widen in disbelief.

“None?!”

“No, Your Grace.” 

“Then how do you know if it will work?”

His eyes nervously look down, to Ser Jorah, then back to her.

“Well, I read about it at the Citadel. The Maesters wrote of such cases where the family of those afflicted…would go along with the victim’s memories, even encouraged them by gaining their trust and incorporating the true memories into the false ones. By doing so, they discovered that something as simple as an object, a place…or even a person, could restore what they had forgotten.”

He shifts uncomfortably, then settles his weight to one side, adding a bit more confidently. 

“I did note a higher success rate among this course of action.” 

Her eyes darken, clearly insulted by the notion of misleading Jorah.

“You do realize that he thinks we’re married?” She shoots Sam an irritated look. “And I can think of plenty of reasons as to why we shouldn’t deceive him.”

Tarly opens his mouth to reply and Daenerys raises a finger.

He closes it immediately.

“The ramifications alone are enough to detour me from such a plan. Not to mention, the obligations that would be expected of me as his–” 

Her voice trails off, unable to finish the thought.

And Sam understands. 

He truly does. 

It was an awkward situation to suddenly be thrusted into. 

But he also knew that Ser Jorah was much like his father.

_A good man._

And during his tenure at the Night's Watch, he had failed in his duty to save the Lord Commander. 

Perhaps, he could still save Ser Jorah. 

As he had once before. 

“Ser Jorah is an honorable man, Your Grace. He would never ask anything of you that you are not willing to give.” 

“And what of Jon?” She blurts out. “How am I to explain this away to him?” 

Daenerys shakes her head, breathes out a heavy sigh. 

“He will never understand my reasons.” 

“He will when he sees that you are trying to save a friend, Your Grace.” 

Her eyes dart to Sam’s, regarding him carefully. 

And something in her eyes change. 

Something he couldn’t quite place.

Fear?

Or was it hope? 

She looks over her shoulder to Ser Jorah and finds him staring.

His focused expression throws her off balance a bit, like he’s waiting on something from her. 

And he was. 

That was the most disconcerting thing of all.

“And when my Lord Commander intends to share my bed.” She whispers in an aside voice, her eyes still glued to Jorah’s. “What do you expect me to do then, Maester Tarly?”

Her eyes sharply cut to his.

_“Play along?”_

The sarcasm found in her tone was not lost on Sam.

He stares blankly at her, his mouth comically hanging open.

Completely taken aback by the retort.

And he could sense the frustration building inside her.

The resentment over what she was being asked to do.

Along with her inability to see it through.

She wants to help Jorah.

He could see that.

But only in a way that would have been safer. 

More proper.

Less controversial. 

With fewer temptations accompanying the deal. 

“If that time ever arises, I expect you to tell him the truth, Your Grace.”

And despite the excuse he just offered. 

The out he gave her. 

Even directed her to use, if she ever found herself being compromised. 

She was still afraid.

Reluctant to be alone with this new Jorah. 

_Her Jorah_ was far more passive.

More tolerant.

More compliant to the unspoken rules she had set between them.

He walked the line. 

The straight and narrow.

But, judging by the way _this_ , new Jorah was looking at her now.

His eyes did very little to conceal the indulgences he was already taking. 

The way his perusal boldly moved over her face…and further down.

It was fairly clear to her.

He was going to be much harder to reign in. 

And even more difficult for her to say no. 

To stave off his advances.

It would be wiser, for all of those involved, not to even venture down this road.

To stay as far away as possible from it.

And seek out an alternative solution.

“He is not the same man.”

She whispers the statement more to herself.

Like she’s vocally reminding herself.

Trying to justify her final decision in some way. 

To ease the guilt she feels, for her role in Ser Jorah’s quandary to begin with.

“He is.” Sam says, tilting his head to the side, his eyes reassuringly searching her face. “He just has different memories…that’s all.” 

Memories that could compromise her.

And her aspirations for the Iron Throne. 

She has successfully aligned herself with Jon Snow. 

A half Targaryen, half Stark. 

And King of the North. 

It was the perfect match.

He seemed to love her.

Despite her recent epiphany for the man whom was still currently staring. 

She just can’t.

Can’t quite bring herself to live a lie. 

The ramifications alone could ruin her. 

Change the course of her destiny. 

She could lose it all. 

And she would be lying if she said that didn’t frighten her. 

But what Samwell said next, terrified her more.

“If you choose to tell him the truth now…you could lose him completely.”

Her eyes accusingly turn to find Melisandre, only to discover the Red Priestess gone. 

And she lacked the curiosity to discover where she had disappeared to. 

She had more important matters to contend with. 

Like Ser Jorah, a man she has sworn most of her adult life, that she never loved. 

Daenerys turns back to Samwell, even more distressed.

“If I was to –” She pauses, shakes her head, trying to find the courage she needed. “When he does remember… what if he hates me for deceiving him?”

“I could never imagine Ser Jorah hating you for anything, Your Grace.” 

She looks in her Lord Commander’s direction once more, her eyes instantly locking with his. 

But his expression is different. 

Almost pained, as if predicting the truth she was about to reveal. 

And she tries to ignore the trepidation in his eyes.

A fear that she has only witnessed, whenever he felt she was in danger.

“I will not lie to him.” 

Sam watches as she walks back to Ser Jorah’s side. 

And his rigid demeanor changes. 

As though her presence alone could calm the storm within him. 

Dispersing the dark clouds with an effortless ease. 

Bringing peace back to a troubled mind. 

Her hand rises, hesitating briefly, then gently cups his cheek. 

Jorah closes his eyes, leaning into her touch.

And now, she’s the one staring.

Mesmerized. 

By the way he finds solace in her. 

In how his hand covers hers, gripping it tightly. 

As though it were a lifeline. 

Familiar and precious. 

He turns his face into her palm and softly kisses it. 

Almost reverently.

And for an instant, Samwell wonders if the whispers circling the nature of their relationship held any truth to them.

Especially when the Queen moves closer into his space, her other hand reaching behind Jorah’s neck, gently pulling his forehead down to hers.

He winces slightly in pain and Daenerys is all too quick to breathe out an apology. 

Barely audible.

But just as intimate as their embrace.

It was a simple transitioning.

One that belies their connection. 

Revealing more than what meets the eye. 

Highlighting something buried. 

Perhaps, never explored. 

But always there, nevertheless. 

Refusing to die. 

Clawing itself to the surface. 

Just for one encounter.

One chance to feel the warm rays of the sun beating down. 

To be recognized. 

Validated. 

To finally be named for what it was. 

And suddenly, Samwell felt as though he was intruding. 

The two occupants dimly aware of his presence. 

Invisible and forgotten. 

Like a ghost haunting the halls. 

Encroaching upon private affairs that he was not privy too. 

And just as soon as he felt that he should look away. 

That he should quietly excuse himself from the room.

Maybe show some kind of deference to the Queen who failed to offer the same sentiment to his family.

He fails to do so, captivated by a foreign act of mercy that causes him to linger behind. 

And re-evaluate his opinion of the Dragon Queen.

As the fiery Targaryen, whom at times, seemed icy and indifferent, melted under Ser Jorah’s whispered pleas of … _tell me who I am._

Samwell watches as she leans back, her eyes confidently searching her Lord Commander’s face, then softly says.

“You are my husband.”


	3. Coming To Terms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is basically a whole soap opera of scenes, you know, the kind where everyone shows up to the party. 🤷♀️

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geezus! 
> 
> I have no clue what has been going on with my brain but it literally pulled a full stop on me, as far as my writing is concerned. I would work on the story a bit, make little progress, then I would be stopped for another week or two. Needless to say, I've been struggling. 
> 
> I was finally able to get back on track though. The next chapter is complete as well. You guys should really enjoy that one. 
> 
> Also, WIaFC should be updated soon. Jorah's scene is basically finished, I just still need to write Dany's. And I promise, that will be the last chapter of that story. Then, the sequel, that I still need to write the first chapter too. LOL 
> 
> I'm such a slacker. 😐

“What could have possessed you to suggest such a thing, Sam?”

Jon vented, pacing the floor of the library back and forth. 

Samwell shrugged innocently.

“It’s Ser Jorah.” He said, as if that was explanation enough.

Jon paused, piercing his friend with a pointed look.

“Yes, I know it’s Ser Jorah.” He scolded. “Which should have been all the more reason to tell him the truth.”

Sam tilted his head to the side, vacillating with Jon’s view. 

“Not in this instance.” He ignored Jon’s scandalized expression. “Just hear me out. At the Citadel, I read several accounts that indicated the truth could be harmful.”

“It’s the truth, Sam.” Jon snapped. “How can that ever be harmful?”

He knew that his friend might have a hard time digesting this course of action, but he didn’t envision this type of resistance.

This kind of dedication in proving him wrong.

And he couldn’t help but wonder, if Jon’s determination to be right had more to do with Daenerys, than with Ser Jorah’s welfare.

But last he heard; the couple had been clashing with one another… and growing further apart.

“Your father thought the truth could be in your case.”

Jon blinked, visibly taken aback, but quickly able to recover.

“That was different, Sam.” He argued. “My father was trying to save my life.”

“Just as I am trying to save Ser Jorah’s.”

“By allowing him to play house with Daenerys?” Jon shook his head in disgust. “This whole idea is absurd.”

“I know it may not sound conventional, but it has proven effective in the past.”

Jon glared at Sam, pointing an accusing finger in his direction. 

"You are allowing him to live a lie and you are forcing Daenerys to take part in it.”

“No…She chose to go along with his memories.”

“Not without you swaying her, no doubt.”

“I…” Sam stammered, his eyes flicking to the book he had previously been reading. “I may have told her about what I learned at the Citadel on Ser Jorah’s condition…But she fully intended to tell him the truth, until –”

Sam stopped, realizing he might have said too much. 

But Jon’s stern gaze demanded that he continue.

“Until what?”

He watched Sam nervously shift from one side to the other, eyes slowly lifting back to his.

“Well,” Samwell faltered. “You told me yourself that you two have been at odds with one another ever since she learned the truth behind your parentage.”

Jon scoffed, throwing his hands up in the air.

“What does that have to do with any of this?”

Sam stared at him, affronted. 

“I know you.” He appealed. “Better than anyone…you don’t love her.”

Jon opened his mouth to deny the claim, but his friend beat him to it.

“At least not the way you loved Ygritte.” Sam watched as his friend's mouth immediately shut, eyes darting to the side, processing his words. “Truth is, you’re having a hard time accepting her relation to you.”

His King’s eyes cut back to his, sternly holding his gaze.

Then, there was a forced smile that followed.

“Are you saying that I should end it?”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “I’m saying that you both have different reasons for remaining in the relationship.”

“Aye. And what are those reasons, Sam, tell me?”

His voice rising with agitation, obviously losing his patience. 

And for a moment, Sam second guessed the need for him to continue in his observations.

But he was in too deep now.

Besides, Jon wouldn’t relent until he finally revealed what he’s noticed.

“You…” Sam began anxiously. “You wanted to save the North from the Night King and you needed her dragons and army to do so. Daenerys wants to rule the Iron Throne and she needs you to secure her claim by staying quiet about the validity of yours. The only way she can achieve that now is by keeping you close.”

“You make it sound as if there is no love at all.”

Sam remained silent, not denying the claim. 

Which irked Jon more, if the deep growl of frustration pouring out of him was any indication at all.

“Alright then, tell me, I’m wrong?” Sam blurted out. “That it’s more than just politics?”

Jon’s feet unexpectedly rushed toward his friend, determined and precise, causing Sam to flinch from the blow that never came.

Only to open one eye in surprise, when Jon’s hand heavily grasped his shoulder, like a wounded soldier needing assistance in reaching safety.

He could feel the weariness radiating off of his King.

The burden of beast weighing upon shoulders.

“Sam…I don’t know what to do.”

His intonation was barely above a whisper.

And for a moment, Sam wasn’t quite sure he had heard him right.

Until Jon’s eyes lift and search his friend’s, almost pleading.

“I didn’t want any of this.” He began. “At times, I wish I never knew the truth.”

The concerned lines that were drawn deep into his visage, held the petitions of a man whom had taken on more than he could handle.

And wanted nothing more than to set the encumbrance aside and flee as far away from it as he could.

To a much simpler life, far beyond the wall.

Exploring the lands of what Tormund refers to as the _true North._

But sadly, he was just as much of a hostage to his honor, as his father was.

Sam just hoped that his friend’s fate didn’t end the same way.

There was still one final war to wage after all.

“You’re not answering the question?”

Jon breathed out a laugh, shaking his head.

“I am, Sam…You’re just not listening.”

**_-x-x-x-_ **

“It’s a shame you didn’t fuck him before his body was mangled.” Tyrion said in an aside voice, staring at the ugly, gaping wounds in Ser Jorah’s chest. “Perhaps now, you can work on your timing.”

Dany’s eyes cut to his, narrowing with disdain.

But the little Lannister continued on, unfazed by the glare.

“You know, since you two are married now.” He tilted his head, analyzing the situation almost comically. “It’s a little sudden, don’t you think…after all, I had such high hopes for Jon Snow.”

“I am in no mood for your antics tonight.” She warned.

“Yes, it is quite the joke, isn’t it?”

“His condition is no joke.” She stated firmly, watching Samwell re-examine the extent of Jorah’s wounds. “He truly remembers nothing.”

“Except you,” Tyrion risks a glance in her direction, easily following her concerned gaze to her Lord Commander. “How convenient that must be for him.”

Her eyes widen, head slowly turning to his, clearly insulted by the insinuation.

“Are you suggesting that he is faking this?”

“Oh, come on,” Tyrion argued in a low tone. “Don’t tell me the thought hasn’t crossed your mind?”

“No. It hasn’t.” She vehemently denied.

Tyrion’s brows shot straight up to his forehead, completely flabbergasted.

“Here is a man, whom has pined for you for years… and you’ve never once considered the probability that this could be a ploy to finally win you over?”

“Why would he do such a thing?”

“I don’t know.” He stated derisively. “Maybe because a union between you and Jon Snow seems imminent. Perhaps the prospects and the finality of that union scared him into some sort of action.”

She rolled her eyes at his unfounded assertions.

“Jorah has never once tried to keep me from marrying before. Why would he start now?”

Tyrion didn’t have an answer for that.

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

She watched in horror as he walked toward Jorah, the Knight’s blue eyes suspiciously gauging his intentions.

“Ser Jorah, might I suggest we play a game?”

He arched a brow. “What kind of game?”

Tyrion ignored the curious glare coming from the Maester.

“It’s quite simple. I ask you a series of questions and you answer.”

“What if I don’t have an answer?”

“Then just say the first word that comes to mind.”

Jorah’s forehead creased predominantly, unsure.

Only to have Tyrion wave off his concerns.

“It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

He exchanges a look with Daenerys, who gives him a reassuring smile in return.

“Tell me, Mormont, what’s the first thought that comes to mind when you look at me?”

“How tiny you are.”

“Only in stature, I assure you.”

Jorah merely stared with a deadpan look on his face.

Then, to Tyrion’s surprise, a smirk began to form.

Apparently, _this Jorah_ appreciated his sense of humor.

The old Jorah never laughed at his jokes.

If anything, they annoyed him to the point that he would often threaten violence.

“Do you remember anything about our travels together?”

“No.”

“Nothing at all?” Tyrion continued to dig. “Just throw a guess out there…it could be anything.”

Jorah required no time to reflect, immediately offering up a possible option.

“How badly I wanted to get away?”

Tyrion tries not to laugh, casting a glance in His Queen’s direction.

“Oddly enough, I like this version better…can we keep him?”

He’s quite amusing.

The Lannister would give him that. 

Along with something else in the mix.

Perhaps, an innocent charm.

“Do you know who I am?”

“The Hand of the Queen.” Jorah remarked with ease.

Causing Tyrion to clap his hands together with excitement, as if he had just experienced an _‘ah-ha’_ moment.

He shot a pointed look at Daenerys, one that told her he had just proven his theory.

But a second later, the dwarf’s expression twists up in confusion, eyes turning back to Jorah.

“Wait, how did you know that, Mormont?”

“Maester Sam told me when you walked in.”

Tyrion sent an irritated glare in Sam’s direction.

 _“Sorry.”_ He silently mouthed.

“I don’t think that’s how this is supposed to work, Sam.” Tyrion chided, his intonation low on patience. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but shouldn’t Mormont be the one giving us the details, not the other way around?”

“Well, he has to know who people are, otherwise, if we all remain silent on our identities, he may never figure out his past.”

“I see…like a breadcrumb trail.”

Sam nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly.”

“Samwell,” Daenerys began, “Do you think it’s wise to overwhelm Ser Jorah so soon?”

“No, Your Grace. It may be best to wait a few days. Give him time to adjust to his surroundings.”

“I merely asked him four questions.” Tyrion protested.

“Nevertheless, it’s too early.”

“But I’m not finish–”

“You are now.” Daenerys interrupted; leaving no dispute that Tyrion had failed to persuade her. “I’m sure he needs to rest.” 

She could visibly see the relief in Jorah’s eyes, along with the silent thank you that he was sending.

“I’ll watch over him tonight, Your Grace.” Sam volunteered. “I wish to monitor his condition a little longer.”

“Are you sure that you don’t remember –”

Both, Dany and Sam shot Tyrion a sharp look, his hands yielding in an unspoken apology.

“Fine. I see that I am outnumbered on this issue.” Tyrion inclined his head. “Your Grace, I shall wait for you in the corridor. If it pleases you, I would like to escort you to the feast being held in the Great hall?”

Her face scrunched up, clearly averse to the ceremony.

“I don’t see the point in celebrating the gift of our lives, when so many others were robbed of theirs.” 

Sam’s eyes turned soft, inwardly agreeing with her beliefs.

And once again, questioning his previous rush to judgement on her part.

Especially after the day’s events.

First, his argument with Jon.

Then, the funeral pyre of the dead.

It was too much for one person to carry on their shoulders.

Another reason why Jon would have seemed so – _taxed._

“It would be wise to attend, Your Grace.” Tyrion offered. “If anything, just to be seen.”

Her eyes move to Jorah’s out of habit, seeking his counsel, amazed when he nods in agreement.

“Very well.” She agreed. “Please, leave us.”

Jorah waited until the infirmary’s door closed behind them.

“Go, love.” He encouraged. “I’ll be fine.”

And of its own volition, her hand reaches out, fingers lightly running through his hair and savoring the feel of his curls wrapping around.

It reassured her.

Made him more real to her.

Alive and breathing.

Erasing the image of his body fading fast as she cradled him in her arms.

“I will visit you first thing in the morning.”

It wasn’t a mere statement.

Only a promise.

One that she cemented with a tender kiss to his cheek.

“Rest now.” She gently ordered.

Her touch lingering longer than she should have before leaving.

**_-x-x-x-_ **

Jon noticed that she sat quietly at the feast.

Her food barely touched.

Only conversing with Missandei and Greyworm.

Despite the seating arrangement that had placed her right beside him.

The only attention he has received thus far, was a contested glare, after Tormund proudly announced Jon’s exploits on Rhaegal’s back as being unrivaled. 

Yet, his silent apology seemed to go unheeded.

They needed to talk.

He knew that.

Especially now.

So, he carefully picked his moment.

Patiently waiting until she dismissed Missandei and Greyworm from the celebration, leaving her alone.

He could plainly see that she was growing more uncomfortable by the minute, obviously itching to leave.

To meet the allotted time that was required for a Queen to stick around and then quietly slip away, unnoticed.

Cautiously, he walked over, nodding toward the empty seat beside her. 

“May I?”

“You’ve been sitting there all evening. I see no reason for you to ask for my permission now.”

_“Dany?”_

Her name leaving his lips sounded like an exasperated sigh.

Expressed by a man lacking the fortitude it required to fight.

But it was enough, to bring her eyes briefly up to his, cold and indifferent, as she motioned her assent with a glass of wine in hand.

Intent on ignoring how he positioned his chair to face her, inclining forward to speak more in secret.

The innocent act bringing him closer into her space. 

Causing her to retreat back and lean more toward the opposite end of her chair.

An unspoken gesture he immediately noticed, along with the silent glare that she and Sansa seemed to currently be engaged in.

“You’ve told them, haven’t you?”

The question came out harsh and unforgiving.

“Not yet.”

Her gaze remained fixed to his sister’s, unwilling to bend.

“But you intend to do so?”

“I’ve told you, Dany…you are my Queen.

”Her eyes cut to his, sharp and direct.

“I may be _your_ Queen, but I am not _theirs_.”

She nodded toward the room full of Northmen.

“And I am beginning to realize that I never will be.”

“Just give them time.”

“I have given them everything – at great cost to myself.” She declared passionately; her intonation slightly breaking. “Tell me, what more am I to give?”

Jon looked down; his expression full of regret.

As though her words hit closer to home than he had anticipated.

Causing her to realize there was more behind his visit.

Something he wasn’t saying. 

“What?”

She was barely able to breath the word out, unsure if she could handle whatever news he was reluctant to share.

“It concerns Ser Jorah.”

Daenerys rolled her eyes, taking a quick sip of wine.

“I see Sam informed you of our situation.”

Jon smirked, placing emphasis on the word.

_“Situation?”_

She ignored his jest, taking another sip of wine, swallowing hard.

“It is nothing more than a simple misunderstanding. When his memory returns, all will be right again.”

“What if his memory doesn’t return?”

She briefly glanced at him, unfazed by his lack of faith.

“It will.”

Jon shrugged, his hand swirling his ale about in his tankard.

“I wish that I could share your conviction, My Queen.” 

“You don’t know him as I do.” She quickly defended. “He has overcome greater odds than this.”

And it was Jon’s fixed gaze that unnerved her.

Dangerously mixed with a skeptical brow and an unspoken question that lied just behind his eyes.

The one that warned her to remain passive.

That if her defenses failed, he could unearth every secret that she preferred to stay buried.

“You care a great deal for him.”

She was careful not to meet his gaze this time.

“He is my closest friend.” Then, she took the risk, her violet eyes accusing. “And one of the few men that I can trust.”

Inwardly, Jon flinched from the insult.

Her response making it crystal clear to him, that as far as she was concerned, Ser Jorah was a subject that was off limits to him.

And he had a deep suspicion as to why.

Jon tore his gaze from her, trying to recollect himself.

Scanning the room full of Northerners, only to stop at the table that now occupied the remaining soldiers from Bear Island, now without a ruler.

And his eyes turn sad, his demeanor, self-deprecating.

Slowly, Daenerys’ gaze follows his and the realization behind his dilemma begins to set in.

When their eyes do lock, his sorrow only seems to magnify in waves.

Despite their current, adverse situation.

They were still somewhat – _connected._

Afterall, they were both Targaryens.

And she would be a fool to deny the existence of its pull.

Even now.

“They want him back, don’t they?”

Jon hesitated, “Aye. They asked me to speak with you on the matter.”

“But we have a war to fight.”

“After the war, Dany.” He reassured her, eyeing the ale in his half empty tankard. “They wish to be ruled by no other name than Mormont. In their eyes, he’s a war hero now. And I’m afraid that a man’s present valor has a way of eliminating his past mistakes.”

She became silent for a long time, processing.

Reflecting on the future possibilities that this quandary imposes.

And deciding that she was disinclined to its prospects.

When she did finally answer, her intonation was merciless, a sure sign that he had overstepped.

“Out of all our disagreements…you choose to approach me with this one?”

_Okay, irate would be a more proper word._

“Dany, don’t you think that this should be Ser Jorah’s decision alone.”

“You know very well that he is in no condition to make such a judgement call, yet, here you are,” She gritted the last word out with such disgusting sincerity. “…a _sking_.”

“As my Queen,” Jon appealed, “…And as Ser Jorah’s, I am only asking that you consider releasing him from his oaths. Nothing more.”

 _“Nothing more?”_ She spat back.

“So far, you have asked me for my armies, my dragons, my ships…the right to reveal your secret to your sisters. And now, you are demanding Ser Jorah as well.”

Daenerys abruptly slid her chair back, hastily standing to her feet.

The deafening, screeching noise grinding against the floor, immediately drawing the attention of the crowd, causing the room to grow uncomfortably silent.

Giving the entire congregation a front row seat to the Dragon Queen’s parting words to their King.

“I swear by the gods, Jon Snow, sometimes, you ask too much.”

She furiously declared before quitting the room and leaving the King of the North behind to face the curious onlookers alone.

**_-x-x-x-_ **

When she carefully opened the door to the infirmary, she could see that Ser Jorah was fast asleep.

And Samwell Tarly’s head comically jutting out from the side of the wall, where he sat at his desk, writing away.

Only to jump to his feet when he realized whom was visiting, excitedly waving her in.

She turned to quietly close the door.

Her steps silent, attentive not to wake her Lord Commander.

“Your Grace, he just fell asleep over an hour ago.” 

Dany nodded. “Any changes?”

Sam shook his head. “Afraid not. I took the liberty of going to his room earlier and retrieving objects that seemed to hold some sort of significance to him. Books, a golden bracelet, his sword, his sigil ring. I showed each item to him, one by one, in hopes that one may trigger some sort of a memory.”

“Did it work?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Sam glanced to Jorah’s sleeping form. “I must admit, I’m at a loss as to what might help.”

“How soon can he be released from the infirmary?”

Sam blinked, a little surprised by the question.

“Despite the alarming nature of his wounds, he seems to be coping well. He’s sore and at times, it pains him to move. But I see no reason for him to remain here.”

“Then he can be escorted to my quarters tomorrow?”

He arched a wary brow at her inquiry.

Curious as to why she suddenly felt the need to rush Ser Jorah’s care to the privacy of her room.

“If we continue to hold off the inevitable, he will eventually grow suspicious.” She quickly explained.

And it was enough to persuade Tarly to her side.

“I have an herbal cream that you can apply to his wounds. It will help cut back on his pain and accelerate his recovery process, as long as his bandages are changed regularly.

”Daenerys smiled. “I think I can manage that.”

“In the meantime, if he shows any signs of decline –”

“I’ll send for you immediately.” She assured him.

Sam nodded, looking toward Ser Jorah one last time, then back to Daenerys, vacillating.

“Your Grace, are you sure you’re up to this?” He softly inquired, his voice laced with concern. “It’s not too late to tell him the truth.”

Her eyes dart to the man in question and immediately soften.

“No.” She replied, “I can handle Ser Jorah.”


	4. Resisting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys realizes this is NOT her old Jorah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been ready for awhile, but I wanted to do some revisions to it before I posted it. Plus, I still have no clue where I am going with this story - so there is that. 🤷♀️
> 
> Oh, just a little tidbit with the timeline on this chapter. It's the next day...Jorah has clearly been resting in Dany's quarters while she's out helping with the task of rebuilding Winterfell or whatever else. I didn't feel the need to write all of that because it would have been a bit boring. So, the scene takes place when she returns to her quarters, late in the evening.

She’s trying not to look at him.

To keep her eyes focused, as her fingers unlace his tunic.

But her hands are slightly shaking.

And she’s trying to cover it up.

To play it down.

To pretend that undressing him is nothing out of the ordinary.

That the act is not as intimate as it is.

But his gaze is persistent.

Just as committed in watching her, as she is in seeing the task through.

And when her hands reach down to grasp the hem of his shirt, she briefly hesitates.

Her eyes cautiously lifting up to his.

It was a mistake.

A temptation she should have resisted.

But the tension stirring between them weakened her resolve.

And she could no more deny the pull of him, as the ocean could deny the lure of the moon.

And Daenerys feels it.

The moment their eyes meet, it’s there between them.

Undeniably present.

This attraction they’ve always avoided.

She swallows hard.

Trying to tap down the inhibition stirring deep within her chest.

The one that’s telling her to close the distance.

To claim his lips with her own.

To taste him.

Just like she has done a thousand times before.

In the midnight hours.

When all is quiet, and she is solely left to her imagination.

Secretly allowed to live out her deepest longings without interruption.

If only through thoughts alone.

“This may hurt a little.” She warns.

And Jorah slowly nods, as she carefully begins to lift his shirt over his head with a painstaking gentleness.

Ever mindful of his injuries.

He only winces a little.

But Dany is still quick to whisper an apology, her eyes thoroughly examining the bandages thickly wrapped about his torso.

A broad network of crimson stained lines darkening the material.

A telltale sign that fresh bandages were needed.

She’s no Maester, but she has tended to his wounds before.

On past occasions.

After his single combat with Qotho to the sack of Yunkai. 

And she can’t help but wonder how much he truly does remember about her.

How much of their past together survived his journey back to her?

Other than the false accounts, of course.

Delicately, she begins unraveling the cloth, still trying to remain calm and unmoved by the way he’s staring at her.

By how he’s studying every worried line that creases her face, as if trying to understand the depth of her devotion.

Trying to recall the makings of it and coming up short. 

Especially now that his past memories have left him with nothing more than blank recollections.

All hollow, except for her.

“You can ask me.” He offers, as if reading her mind.

Daenerys freezes, her eyes refusing to meet his.

Too reticent to tempt fate twice in one night.

And her anxiety doesn’t subside, until his fingers rest under her chin, gently lifting her gaze to his.

Drawing her so effortlessly back to him.

Like gravity, persuading her into his orbit.

Mesmerized by how genuine and soft his eyes appear.

So blue and welcoming.

“How much do you remember about me?”

“Not much.” He whispers with a hint of regret, pulling the tenderness of his touch away. “Only what you know and vague recollections beyond that.”

“Such as?”

“Where we were married.”

Her brows rise with interest and she tries desperately to hide the smirk that’s beginning to form.

“You find that amusing?”

Daenerys smiles fully, shaking her head.

“No. I suppose I find it…endearing.”

Jorah makes a face, emphasizing the word.

_“Endearing?”_

She briefly glances up to see his playful expression, her hands continuing to unravel his bandages.

“Yes.”

“So, you find your husband endearing?”

“I find what you’ve remembered to be…yes.”

“Well, just as long as you find me.”

And she laughed.

She couldn’t help it.

It just bubbled up out of her.

There was just something about _this_ Jorah.

Perhaps it was his charm.

Or the rush of adrenaline she felt every time their eyes met.

If this had been his nature from the onset of their meeting, she shudders to think of the exploits that could have taken place between them.

His boldness tearing down her defenses.

Captivating her completely.

He was dangerous like this.

A mortal threat to everything she’s built so far.

She’s closer to the Iron Throne than she has ever been.

And it frightens her.

To think of how easily she would let it all go.

Surrendering to the temptation that is him.

Being effortlessly seduced into a normal life.

She’s never realized it before.

This hold he has over her.

Like a riptide pulling her out to sea.

But all thoughts break off and drift into oblivion the instant his bare chest is revealed to her.

Taken aback by the damage.

A valley of deep, intermittent wounds and scars.

A geographical map of his pain.

A blueprint of his life.

One that grieved her to even behold.

Because it was a blatant representation of her abnegation of him.

Of all the times she’d pushed him away.

Ignored what he had been offering.

And yet, those wounds displayed the magnitude of his dedication.

Worn like a badge of honor.

Like a rebel in direct retaliation to her recusals.

It was the truest of intentions.

A singular representation of what intimacy should be.

How no one else could ever love her as he does.

A truth she could no longer close her eyes too.

Now that she was staring at the proof of his devotion.

“I’m not as handsome as I used to be.”

His tone is light, playful even.

And she knows he’s trying to curtail the awkwardness of the situation.

To hide his self-consciousness’ over his battered body. 

But she’s able to successfully crush that insecurity.

When her eyes move to his, soft and sincere.

“I was thinking to the contrary, dear Ser.”

_Oh, seven hells._

He’s barely been in her quarters a full day and already, he’s coerced her into flirting with him.

She’s never going to survive this arrangement.

Especially if he keeps looking at her like that.

With that telling smirk and those expressive blue eyes.

He was quite intriguing when confident.

Alluring and charismatic.

As bewitching as the power behind Melisandre’s magic.

And she understands now.

Suddenly sees it all too clearly.

This is why she’s kept him at arm’s length.

Despite the cries of her own heart screaming, _‘Jorah, Jorah, Jorah.’_

She just couldn’t risk it.

Always reminding herself of whom she was.

That duty must always prevail over love.

A Queen doesn’t get to choose.

No monarch is afforded that luxury.

But looking at him now, maybe, just maybe she is.

As a woman living in a man’s world.

She’s successfully managed to break through every stereotype that has been placed upon her.

Why not this one as well.

“You think I’m handsome?” He asks.

And he’s teasing her.

But the heady rasp found in his timbre implies so much more.

His voice is deeper.

Sultry.

More persuasive.

And he comes off sounding like seduction personified.

She tries to ignore the question.

The effect he has on her senses.

To stay the course.

Until his hand reaches out, sliding across her hip, pulling.

And despite her reservations, her body betrays her.

Moving closer to him of its own volition.

Watching, as he holds her gaze. 

“You didn’t answer the question, love.”

He breathes the observation.

And the battle begins.

Head against heart.

Rationality against desire.

Duty against love.

Truth against falsehoods.

Yet, this is one campaign she wouldn’t mind losing.

Laying down her sword and waving the white flag.

But then her gaze lowers to his bare, lacerated chest.

And suddenly, she’s reminded of the circumstances they are currently engaged in.

His amnesia.

Her claim to the Iron Throne.

Usurping Cersei Lannister.

And Jon Snow.

Albeit, she did briefly forget about the latter.

“Well, I did marry you.”

Jorah’s smile is slow.

Teasing. 

“Aye, I see, the truth comes out now.”

Daenerys hums her response. “Perhaps.”

“I knew it.”

He tries to sound deflated at the prospect but fails miserably. 

And she’s smiling.

Uncontrollably.

Despite the disparaging view of his wounds, he’s managed to make her laugh.

To momentarily forget that their marriage is nothing more than a fabrication. 

A drastic attempt to induce his memories. 

To bring him back to her.

Complete and whole.

Even if, oddly enough, she will lose him all over again.

Yet, in a more intimate way.

“Gods, you’re a vision when you smile.”

He idly whispers to himself, the conviction flowing from him unimpeded.

Her eyes snap back to his.

More astounded that he would voice such an ardent confession.

Or that the admission would move her as it had.

Her lips part slightly in anticipation and his eyes keenly catch the move.

Glancing down to her hands, now firmly planted on top of his thighs, as if for support.

She watches his gaze carefully move back up to her eyes, then to her lips once more.

His breathing just as heavy as hers.

And she barely registers his hand leaving her side, to tuck a silver lock of hair behind her ear.

Too mesmerized by his lips drawing closer. 

“Tell me, do I kiss you often?” Jorah says, stopping mere inches from her lips. “Because I’m a damn fool if I don’t.”

At this precise moment, she would rate them both as idiots, considering they’ve never kissed.

Not in this life.

Not once.

Not ever.

And sadly, not even now.

As she regrettably bypasses his lips to lightly kiss his cheek.

A less provocative act, to be sure.

But a necessary evil for the time being.

One that helps her to cope with the way his body stiffens.

The way he blinks back the disappointment taking root in his eyes.

The confusion that he fails to voice, yet, blatantly plays out across his face.

And it tore at her.

To have to push him away.

But this was safer.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

The tension in the room was already thick enough.

Heavy with mutual attraction.

And a gentle rebuff was the only incontestable way to suffocate it.

To shut it down.

“Not yet.” She promises, leaning a considerable distance back, eyes searching his. “I know where this will lead, Jorah and you need to heal first.”

His brows shoot straight up to his forehead, intrigued by her answer.

“Are we that hot and heavy?”

She snorted a laugh.

“Afraid so.”

At least, she imagined they would be.

If this faux marriage were to become a reality.

_She had no difficulty envisioning barred doors and nights rarely, if ever, spent apart._

_Along with unplanned trips._

_Discreet and far away._

_With only a small retinue of unsullied to accompany their journey._

_Escaping the Iron Throne for some summer home._

_Unknown and foreign to her._

_Perhaps, Bear Island._

_Where they would take evening horseback rides through the forest._

_Just the two of them._

_And openly bathe in waterfalls, surrounded by the smell of golden sap dripping from the pines._

_While her husband lays out fur cloaks upon mossy covered grounds._

_His dark blue eyes holding her gaze._

_Steady and constant as the moon hanging above them._

_Employing his charm and that dangerous half smirk to lure her in._

_Making it impossible for her to say no._

_As he lays her down, his intention’s crystal clear._

_Oh, she could picture their life together all too easily._

“Daenerys?”

His voice pulls her back to him and to her horror, she realizes that she’s staring.

And for a brief instant, she seriously thought he was going to kiss her.

Plowing straight through her previous excuse to cultivate the blatant need in her violet eyes. 

Encouraging it to blossom.

To open for him and him alone.

But then reason sets in and reverses his course.

Putting them both back to rights again.

“Sorry,” She says, shaking her head. “My thoughts drifted somewhere else.”

“Care to share?”

“No.”

He huffed out a laugh. 

Taking her obstinance as nothing more than a challenge.

“Would you be persuaded if I said that it could be detrimental to my condition?”

“I hardly doubt that.”

Jorah shrugged.

“You never know, it may be the key that unlocks what I fail to recollect.”

She lifts an expressive brow, a small smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

“Are you attempting to manipulate me?”

“Possibly.”

He gave her an innocent look.

“Why…is it working?”

“Not at all.”

“Dammit.” He mumbles under his breath.

She chuckles to herself, reaching for the salving cream that Maester Tarly had given her.

But Jorah’s hand stops her short.

And time no longer exists.

As her eyes cautiously turn up to his.

The proximity of their lips precariously close.

“Just so you know, love.” He gently warns. “I have more effective methods in making you talk.”

Daenerys’ eyes widen, her mouth slightly parts, her breathing labored. 

Trying desperately to ignore the rush of heat flooding between her legs. 

As well as the temptation to see his commitment through.

But it was his next vow that undid her.

“I could worship at your alter for hours.” He reveals, “And have you begging for mercy before the night is through.”

_Holy fuck._

And she doesn’t even remember closing the distance between them.

Just the firm impression that she had to taste him.

Almost like an instinct.

An abandoned inclination that swoops in and overrides common sense.

Foregoing all rationality.

Swearing that her rabid madness was induced by some rare form of short-term insanity.

Nothing else mattered.

Except the feel of his lips against hers. 

And the last thing she expected, was his strong hand against her cheek, along with the painful expression painted across his face, as he soundly stops her a mere breath away from her goal.

Successfully bringing her back to her senses.

“ _But_ …not yet.” He concedes.

Kissing her forehead, her temple, her cheek, leaving a trail of apologies with his lips.

She watches him pause in his ministrations, then hover close, before regrettably backing away.

The gentleness behind his touch may be gone, but his eyes were just as soft and sincere.

“You sorely test my resolve, Daenerys.” He breathes the revelation. “Despite my affliction, I can only be strong for so long.”

He wasn’t chastising her.

Far from it.

His words left no mystery behind their meaning.

He was merely revealing the influence she has over him.

The overwhelming power his heart bends too.

The infinite measure of his affection.

And his desire to satisfy that craving.

To no longer be cautioned by his lack of memory.

Or the disparaging enigma that he seems to impose upon himself.

By being alive and breathing.

When the evidence of his wounds suggests otherwise.

To him, none of it made sense.

Except her.

She was all he knew.

And everything he wanted to rediscover.

Over and over again.

She watches as he reaches for the salving cream and holds it out to her, waiting.

Her eyes flick from the center of his chest to the balm in his hand, then briefly up to his face.

And she’s struggling to regain her composure.

He can see it as transparent as her beauty.

How she’s still internally wrestling with the high his impassioned words drove her too.

Sees the hesitation that holds her back, still not fully trusting herself.

Until he reassures her with a warm smile that promises nothing but good behavior.

At least for now.

She playfully rolls her eyes, taking the herbal cream from him.

Trying her best to play down the cause of her unraveling. 

To regain some semblance of queenly regal.

But he sees it for the lie that it is.

As her hand begins to shake the very second, she starts applying the salve to his wounds.

“You almost died.” She whispers, her voice cracking under the weight of the memory.

“I did die, love.”

Her eyes lift to his, fixed and desperate.

“Promise me, Jorah.” She pleads. “Promise me that you will never leave me again.”

His eyes soften, as a finger trails down the line of her jaw, pausing, then dropping back to his side.

“Aye, I promise.”

With relief flooding her eyes, she nods, releasing the fear with one, deep exhale.

“Tell me, do you remember home?”

She begins to dig, turning her attentions back to his wounds.

“I remember you.” He answers confidently.

But Daenerys’ brows knit close together, the expression telling him that she’s not following.

“When the Red Priestess brought me back…it seemed as though nothing had changed. I was still surrounded by darkness. I recognized nothing…and no one.” She chanced a look in his direction, catching the tender smile on his lips and the shine in his eyes. “Until they brought you to me and I knew right away, deep in my gut, that I loved you.”

“How?”

“Because until then, I was an orphan lost inside a world that I did not recognize.” He shrugged, slightly embarrassed from the admission. “But you felt familiar to me…like home.” 

She doesn’t dare look up.

Despite how badly she wanted too.

“And from that…from that feeling alone, you were able to decide that we were married?”

She was placing far too much effort into not sounding cynical.

Causing Jorah to snort a laugh, flinching in pain from the action.

“I suppose it does sound foolish.” He admitted. “But not as foolish as me meeting a girl like you and not doing everything within my power to make you mine.”

_Gods, all she wants is to just survive this night. Is that asking too much?_

And she already knows the answer to that.

Fairly certain that she has pressed far beyond the borders that most gods would allow.

But she yearns for this prayer.

Begs them for the strength to sustain it.

To not indulge.

To not take advantage, as she so desperately wants to do.

She needs to keep her wits about her.

To ignore the feelings that her Lord Commander is awakening. 

This familiar, yet unknown ache of melancholy that stirs within her soul every time his lips move, or their eyes meet.

Almost like a sense of loss.

For something that you’ve never even discovered.

Until now.

It’s one of those rare moments in life, being with him like this, seeing this isolated side of him.

Where it evokes within her the entire spectrum of all she has ever dreamed to feel.

Only to discover that he defines every nameless emotion to perfection.

And it scares the seven hells out of her.

Because the timing of it all is less than ideal.

Everything that she has strived for depends upon the recovery of his memories.

And her ability to successfully resist the false ones.

She needs to change the subject.

That’s exactly what they need right now.

But he’s half naked and perched on the edge of her bed, his eyes locked to hers, with this anesthetic glow from the fire dancing about his features.

A disarming courtesy brought about by the flames burning in the hearth.

And despite her opposition, the conundrum only seems to be more inviting.

Leaving her intoxicated by its influence.

“You said that you remembered where we were married?”

_Fuck…She was supposed to change the subject._

Daenerys sees him nod, then patiently waits for him to elaborate as she finishes rubbing the herbal salve within his wounds and begins wrapping him in fresh bandages.

“It was a small affair.”

And she smiles to herself.

That definitely sounds like them.

Nothing extravagant or to formal.

No large crowds.

They both disliked them immensely.

“Am I right so far?”

She risks a glance in his direction, trying to hold back her smile and humming in agreement.

“I’m not certain of the location. But it was secluded. Far from prying eyes.”

And he stops completely when she moves in closer.

Her soft hands working the cloth beneath his left arm and more securely around his chest, unaware of the impact she has on him until his silence becomes stretched out.

And without ceasing in her actions, she looks up, only to find him staring.

But when she pins him with a questioning brow, Jorah clears his throat and continues, his expression turning distant.

“Even now, if I close my eyes, I can still smell the pine and herbs filling the air.” She risks a glance and sees Jorah’s eyes shut. “It was autumn, with a faint hint of winter in its winds.” He recalls with vivid clarity. “In the background, there’s a waterfall cascading over the cliffs and I swear by the gods, old and new, when the sun’s light hits it just right, a providence of colors would appear within its mist, hovering like a cloud.” His eyes open, intensely piercing hers. “And despite being surrounded by such beauty, all I could see was you.” Her eyes flick down, overwhelmed by the ardency of his gaze, but still intent on listening. “And your hair was braided…much like it is now.” 

He idly reaches for a rebellious strand that had worked its way free, fingers sliding down its length, then releasing.

Daenerys’ hands stilled instantly, eyes cautiously lifting, as if spellbound.

“We were sitting in your favorite spot – a large overhang located in the heart of the forest, its rock completely covered in reindeer moss. You were laughing at the cubs below, easily catching the trout trying to jump upstream in the falls.” Jorah smiled softly from the memory. “And you turned to look at me, with this light in your eyes, much like you have now and said, ‘So this is what home feels like.’” He solemnly shrugged. “All I wanted to do for the rest of my life, was to continue giving you that feeling...because it was something that you never had. So, I asked you to marry me and much to my surprise, you did. The very same day.”

She blushes the moment he gets that look in his eyes.

The one that gives his intentions away.

Forcing her to quickly avert her gaze back to her task, but she doesn’t abandon the conversation altogether. 

Instead, she plays along.

“If I recall correctly, you were quite persuasive in the asking.”

“Well, you have to be…if you want something bad enough.”

His thumb brushes over her bottom lip and it startles her.

His touch almost reverential in nature.

Delicate enough to crush her rebellion, pulling her attention back to him.

“And gods help me, love, but I can’t recall wanting anything more.”

“That’s because you don’t remember anything else.”

He laughs out loud, then simultaneously groans in agony from the effort.

She had a fair point.

One that he couldn’t argue.

But then again, he didn’t believe in playing fair.

Or at least, he didn’t think he did.

Not when it came to her.

“I remember you.” He affirms, his touch still lingering. “And that’s enough for me.”

And she’s staring.

Her hands long forgotten their duty.

Too lost in the blue depths that seem to be studying her with just as much intensity.

Watching and waiting.

For what, she knew not.

He was her husband; he could do as he wishes with her.

But he won’t.

Because deep down, lies the core of the man that she trusts.

More than anyone else.

Even now, with that dangerous gleam in his eye.

The one that’s warning her about the blatant nature of his thoughts.

Making his motives ever clear the second he begins to lean in, hesitating.

So close that she could feel the heat of his breath caressing her lips.

“Stop me, if you must.” He says. “But I did warn you.”

“You did.” She eagerly agrees.

And it’s utter torture.

The way he tarries.

The patience he employs.

How he’s still able to hold back.

Only to see which one of them will break first.

But then her fingers find their way into his hair, entwining themselves within the ginger curls behind his neck.

And time slows down, as she pulls him to her.

His lips lightly ghosting over hers.

Testing her resolve.

Teasing it into submission.

Until the urgent knock upon the door startles her to the point that she physically pushes him away.

The swift, unexpected move causing Jorah to groan aloud, hands defensively cradling his stomach. 

His visage etched in distress.

“Seven hells, Daenerys…a simple no would have sufficed.” He complains, still holding his wounds.

“Oh Gods, I’m so sorry.”

She rushes towards him, intent on apologizing more properly.

Her hands cradle his face, lips kissing every patch of skin available to her.

His forehead, his temples, the tip of his nose, one cheek, then the other, the corner of his mouth, whispering her apologies alongside every kiss she bestows.

And suddenly, the pain ceases.

Simply vanishes with the touch of her lips.

Unfortunately, the nuisance on the other side of their door does not.

As they knock again, more persistently this time, the visitor clearly deeming their wait too long already.

But instead of rushing to answer, she leans back, pinning Jorah with one last meaningful look before making her way toward the door.

When she opens it, she’s shocked to see Ser Davos standing on the other side with a cautious, sympathetic look.

“My apologies for the late hour, Your Grace.” He inclines his head. “The King of the North has sent me to inform you of a council meeting in the morning.”

Daenerys arches a brow. “About?”

“The dead may be gone, Your Grace, but Cersei Lannister still lives.”

His answer was simple and straight forward.

She liked this man.

He reminded her of Jorah, with his no nonsense attitude.

“You may inform your King that I will be there.”

“Aye, Your Grace.” He nodded, turned to leave, only to waver, as he looked over his shoulder, eyes ruefully searching hers. “I was sorry to hear about Ser Jorah…he’s a damn good man.”

“Yes, he is.”

“I hope his recovery is swift. I’m afraid we’re going to need him in the war to come.”

And with that said, the onion knight was gone, the sound of his boots echoing down the vacant corridor.

“Who was that?”

She turned to see Jorah tying off the ends to his bandages, fully able to complete the task within minutes.

Whereas she would still be struggling with her duty, had they not been interrupted.

“A man I think you would like.”

“Ah, I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it.”

A small smile graced her lips.

“In this instance, I believe you will.”

And the light in his eyes dimmed, his expression turning serious, more sober.

“Daenerys…what happens if I’m never able to remember?” His words were barely above a whisper. “What will become of us?”

He briefly looked down, then back to her, his fear evident.

“Jorah, I have no intentions of leaving you.” She quickly closed the distance, palms cupping his face. “You’ll remember. Don’t worry, we’ll find a way, I promise.”

He watched as she curiously tilted her head.

“How much did Samwell reveal to you?”

He casually shrugged his shoulders.

“Mainly how I was wounded in battle, why I’m still alive, who he was, who you are…other than my wife.”

“You remember nothing of your past? Your family? Where you were born?”

He takes a minute, then shakes his head.

“I’ve told you what I remember, love. Beyond that, I see nothing.”

“If…if I were to take you home, Jorah, do you think that would help?”

“It’s hard to say. Could be worth a try.”

Her fingers gently brush his hair from his forehead, and she can feel his eyes watching her.

Like he has a question he’s desperate to ask but thinks better of it.

Until he does, catching her completely unaware.

“Do we have any children?”

Her mouth slightly drops, eyes blinking in a rapid succession.

And suddenly, she doesn’t know where to look.

At him, the ground, the warmth of the fireplace…the far wall. 

But it’s not until her eyes move back to his, their blue reflection all innocent and hopeful, that she’s able to muster up the courage to answer him.

“Does three dragons count?” Then, she immediately corrects herself. “Well, two now.”

He lifts an inquisitive brow but chooses not to travel down that rabbit hole.

The wound still too fresh for her.

No, he would save that conversation for another night.

When she was ready.

“I was thinking more along the lines of human babies, love?”

She forces a smile.

“No, I’m afraid not.” She says softly, almost ashamed. 

And to her surprise, he reaches out for her hand, carefully pulling her to him.

And against her better judgement, she complies far too willingly.

She sees him incline his head, a wry smile beginning to form on his face, as his lips inch closer.

Despite being almost thrice her age, it gives him a boyish charm.

Effacing all known traces to his authentic age.

Looking much younger and completely irresistible.

It was from this look alone, that she knew she was in trouble.

The good kind.

That makes you impatient for the unknown.

The sort that lights a fire inside you and sets your heart ablaze.

Just like his lips were doing to her right now.

Fixed securely to hers.

Sure, and determined.

Delicate and gentle.

Tempered and far too fleeting.

But enough to erase any discomfort she had previously felt.

And enough to replace the smile his question had stolen, permanently back upon her face.

“Perhaps we should remedy that.” He offered.

And suddenly, it was all too clear.

Regaining the Iron Throne would not be the greatest battle of her life.

Saying no to Jorah Mormont would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you, well, maybe all of you, will realize that I am taking some liberties with Jorah's personality in this story. He may seem a bit OOC, but we also have to bear in mind that he has amnesia. Which is the point of view that I am writing from because he virtually has no idea who the hell he is and as of now, he is basically reverting back to how he was in his younger days, before Lynesse. As the story continues, you will still see glimpses of the old Jorah peaking through from under the surface, but they will be rare. 
> 
> On a positive note, we're also getting little insights into how Jorah/Dany's relationship would be, _if_ they were married. But not only is this reality being revealed to the readers, but to Dany as well. 
> 
> Not sure when the next chapter will be...we shall see. Not going to really rush myself over it. And in all honesty, nothing is written. More than likely, WIaFC will be updated before this story will be.


	5. Unbalance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Daenerys finally come to an understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it took me forever to get the willpower up to return to this story and finish this chapter. Mainly because I just haven't felt like writing...like, at all. 
> 
> So it was a struggle to even get this chapter out. Every time I would try to work on it, the desire just wasn't there and I would close my laptop in defeat. 
> 
> Despite my desire to abandon the story altogether, I do promise to finish it. However long it takes because I made a promise to myself a long time ago to never leave another story unfinished. Believe me, I know how it feels when you get all into a story and desperately want to see the end, only to have the author jump ship, leaving the work open for interpretation. It's just not the same as having the entire picture and I do intend to deliver that. 
> 
> But, I'm afraid that my lack of ambition may be on full view in this chapter. So, just be patient with me.

She knows he feels it too.

The shift in their relationship.

The shaking of their foundation.

One that has placed them on uneven ground.

The rift causing them to grow further apart.

Avoiding each other, as if they were strangers.

Both entering into this eternal merry-go-round.

Trapped in a dance neither one wishes to take part in.

They have been captives of their own thoughts for some time now.

Unwilling to speak aloud, the pressing subject that occupies both of their minds.

Ever since he first revealed his true identity to her.

Only now, there is no denying the proverbial elephant in the room.

She tries to ignore it.

To turn a blind eye to the way he’s been looking at her.

Covertly glancing in her direction when he thinks no one is looking.

But someone is always watching.

As Sansa was so quick to make note of during the war council meeting.

“The men we have left are wounded and exhausted…they will fight better in the field if they are given time to rest.” She glares at Jon, with defiance coursing through her veins. “Or have your eyes failed to notice?”

The accusation angered him.

Dany could tell.

The double entendre hit its mark – _hard._

He moved to answer his cousin, but Dany was quicker.

“And how long do you think they need?”

The inquiry came out harsh, even critical.

Leaving no doubt of the Queen’s stance on the matter.

Of her impatience to get on with it.

“I think the officers would be better suited for that question, don’t you?” Sansa responded coldly.

Igniting a fire behind Dany’s eyes.

Jon could see it gaining traction, the blaze rising to an inferno.

“At your brother’s request and against my better judgement, I came North to fight alongside you. What has taken me years to acquire, has vanished in less than a night and what do I have to show for it? Two dragons, half an army and a trusted advisor that remembers little of nothing because of it. Now that your repayment has come due, you want to defer?”

Dany was past offended.

The sharpness of her voice said as much.

But if Sansa had taken notice, then her icy demeanor simply just didn’t care.

“These are your people, not mine. Do you wish to kill the rest of them off by taking them into a war they are not physically able to fight?”

The Targaryen became even more infuriated when Sansa’s eyes moved to Greyworm and the Unsullied soldiers surrounding their Queen, as if to prove her point.

Dany’s posture stiffened, “The capabilities of my army is not in question here…but the loyalty of yours are?”

Sansa merely shrugged her shoulders, her voice slightly mocking.

“And you are that certain of victory? Even with the absence of your most trusted advisor and General?”

The Queen lifted her chin and dangerously stared at Sansa.

Her tone was carefully controlled, naturally woven with a timbre of authority.

“Ser Jorah’s condition is none of your concern.”

“Spoken like a true, defensive wife, no doubt.” Sansa countered snidely.

Apparently, the rumors of her Lord Commander's amnesia have spread far and wide.

And she was under no disillusions of just _whom_ had delivered that information.

Dany’s eyes accusingly shoot to Jon.

Clearly her confidence had been betrayed.

But the source of that intel, the man she was currently scrutinizing, scarcely showed any signs of remorse. 

“Enough!” Jon shouted. “All this bickering will get us nowhere." He took a deep breath, "If we are going to take King’s Landing, we need to find a way to work together.”

Dany and Sansa’s eyes briefly meet, neither the least bit repentant.

And Arya, well, she was still too busy trying to school the belittling smirk playing across her features.

While the rest of the occupants exchanged furtive looks, content in remaining silent.

Until Jon turned to the Targaryen Queen and loudly pronounced.

“You are our Queen…what you command, we will obey."

The brisk exit of the Stark girls only heightened the satisfaction Dany was feeling.

It was petty, she knew it.

To openly question and bait the girl.

But so was this inexhaustible feud that Sansa insisted on. 

At times, she grew weary of trying to prove that she belonged here.

Jon watched as she absently nodded, giving no definitive answer to their next move.

“May I have a word alone, Your Grace?” He asked.

Dany exchanged a look with Tyrion, whom hesitated in his acquiescing, only to relent with a reassuring smile from his Queen.

She didn’t dare move closer to Jon.

Content and accustomed to the distance that now resided between them.

She clasped her hands in front of her and waited patiently as the others took their cue and began filing out of the council room.

Once certain of their privacy, Dany arched an impatient brow.

“What is it you wish to speak about?”

It was a silly question.

One that she already knew the answer too.

But pretenses had to be kept in place.

It was her Queenly right.

Jon shifts, looks down at the war table, then meets her with a pointed stare.

His demeanor was pure agitation, a complete contradiction to the softness she found in his timbre.

“Dany,” Jon began, “What are you doing?”

She flinched at the use of her nickname.

At the familiarity it suggested.

At how it felt so wrong falling from his lips.

Especially since the ties that had once bound them, felt so foreign now.

“I don’t want my enemies to grow stronger –”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Dany blinked.

“Then I’m afraid you are going to have to explain.”

Jon grips the pommel of his sword, averts his eyes, his jaw clenching.

A long pause stretches between them.

One that makes her nervous, makes her turn her gaze back forward, then down to the yellow, parched map of Westeros in front of her.

When she flicks her eyes back up to him, he’s already staring at her.

With a knowing look that tells her the unnamed source of his thoughts.

“Jorah?” She whispers idly to herself. “This is about Jorah?”

“Aye.”

His response was simple.

And far too understanding.

She preferred him angry.

Perhaps, jealous.

Or indecisive.

But not empathetic.

_Definitely not that._

It only made a difficult situation, worse.

Made her feel more guilty.

Even though her only crime was that of trying to help a friend.

One that kisses _really_ well.

Whispers his brazen intentions even better.

Enticing her mind to all sorts of unholy thoughts.

_Okay, maybe he was more than a friend._

And suddenly, she wants to apologize.

For the false hope of a union that they carelessly represented.

For the sham their relationship was.

For the game of politics, they both had been playing.

For this never-ending quid pro quo.

It wasn’t love between them.

Infatuation, perhaps, but not love.

“I have to help him.”

Jon shook his head. “Not like this you don’t.”

The sympathy in his voice faded, taking on an admonishing tone. 

It made him sound self-righteous, whether intentional or not.

And she couldn’t help but to feel insulted.

“If the roles were reversed, how would you handle it?”

“I would tell you the truth.”

He didn’t even hesitate in his answer.

Giving her a broader scope of his virtue.

It only irked her all the more.

_Self-righteous, indeed._

“I wasn’t speaking of you and I,” She explained curtly, “I have no doubt of where I stand with you. But if it was someone else, someone who is not me…oh, let’s say, Sansa.” Jon’s brows lifted in surprise, but he was far too quick to discipline the emotion. “Would you tell her the truth? Even if it meant losing her?”

His answer wasn’t as forthcoming.

In fact, she was still waiting for him to reveal it.

Her eyes judging, unnerving him to the point that he was forced to break eye contact, still unable to voice his answer.

But his silence only betrayed the ardency of his affection, just as Jorah’s always had.

Dany sighed audibly.

Certain now of what she had suspected.

Ever since she had witnessed the delicate workings of his heart. 

How it would beat, not for her, but for Sansa.

All the signs were there - overt and as luminous as the stars above.

The surreptitious smiles, forbidden and yet, so sweetly partaken in. 

Accompanied by avid gazes when one, or the other was not looking.

Lost in thought. 

Or perhaps, preoccupied by the same misery she had only recently discovered herself. 

One that implies a certain kind of ache.

An anguish that refuses to mend, until the hunger is sated and fulfilled. 

Daenerys could see it all now.

The transparency of his guarded desire.

Reckless and veiled.

A storm had been brewing in Winterfell.

It raged in the shadows and sighed in the corners. 

And soon, those dark clouds, full of longing and necessity, would break under the pressure.

“Jon, how long must we keep this up.”

His dark eyes snapped back to hers, alert and amenable.

It wasn’t just an exasperated inquiry.

But a statement, filled with the weight of finality.

Curiously enough, she often found him aloof and obtuse.

But not this time.

He easily read her meaning.

No translation needed.

No further elaboration on the matter.

Just a silent agreement, spoken through eyes alone.

From a King, to a Queen.

And she almost laughed at the relief that seemed to flood his features.

She probably would have, had she not felt the same rush of deliverance.

“You love him?”

There was a pause, a sudden still to her heart.

Not from doubt, but more from an inner reflection.

Induced by a wave of alleviation.

One that overwhelms you with a certain peace, accompanied with the ability to finally speak, _aloud_ , what had been buried beneath the depths for so long _._

Dany nodded, “I love him.”

Jon softly smiled to himself, then held her gaze.

“Just be careful.”

“I could offer you the same advice with Sansa.”

He didn’t deny it this time.

Or try to mask the markings of its existence.

His smile simply became more bashful, more reticent.

She watched as he inclines his head, “With your permission, I will begin preparing the North for battle, Your Grace.”

Distractedly, she turns her attentions back to the map of Westeros.

Her thoughts turning inward, more reflective.

As his keen eye tracks the movement of her hand hovering over the chart, slightly moving further North, to trace the outline of an Island that now bears no ruler. 

“Perhaps Sansa is right.”

Her eyes move to his and she sees the shock playing across his features.

Sees how he wasn’t expecting her answer.

“Maybe it is best too postpone…to allow the wounded to heal.”

He raises one brow at her, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“I think that would be a wise decision, Your Grace.”

She hums her agreement, her eyes drawn back to the outline of Bear Island.

_“Separately.”_ She clarifies.

And out of her peripheral, she sees the double take Jon gives her. 

The sudden caution in his eyes.

“I would advise against you returning to Dragonstone, Your Grace.” He warned. “It’s the first place Cersei would expect you to go –”

“I don’t plan on returning to Dragonstone.” Daenerys interjects. 

Then she slowly turns her gaze back to him, resolved and resilient.

“We will retreat to Bear Island instead.”

Jon blinks, then his expression softens.

“You’re hoping that his home will unlock his memories?”

Dany shrugged, “I could be wrong…but I have to try.”

“If it pleases you, I shall ask the Bear Islanders to accompany you in your journey. I’m sure they will be pleased to hear of Ser Jorah’s return as well.”

“They cannot have him.” Her tone was decisive, adamant even.

Causing him to give her a strange look.

His expression taking on a theatre of emotions.

Mainly ruled by doubt and amusement.

As though her wish was terribly impractical.

Giving her the keen impression that Jorah’s people were not to be trifled with…nor were they to be denied.

Jon's steps drew closer and she could easily detect the slight hint of mirth in his voice.

“I pray that you succeed in your endeavors, Your Grace.” He hesitated, then playfully added. “Both of them.”


End file.
